


Guilty

by AngelaChristian



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-29
Updated: 2011-07-29
Packaged: 2017-10-21 22:10:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelaChristian/pseuds/AngelaChristian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garak remembers his past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guilty

Title : Guilty  
rating: M  
Words : 3,177 (yes !)  
Fandom : Deep Space Nine, Garak/Bashir  
Genre : tragedy, POV Garak  
Season : S1, during the episode "Past Prologue"  
Warning : violence/torture, panic attacks, auto-aggressive behaviour  
Disclaimer : Star Trek: Deep Space Nine belongs to Paramount Pictures.  
I don't make money with this.  
Summary : Garak is haunted by painful memories of his past.  
Note : pre-relationship, both meet for the first time  
Teaser : I didn't remember for how long I had been kneeling on the floor, but all I remembered was the fear of Tain finding out that I failed to conduct a simple interrogation.

~~~

Garak returned to his quarters after a long and boring day spend in his shop. He sat down on the couch in order to get some rest. His life had become so dull and ordinary that it was hard to bear. Maybe something might brighten up his mood a little. He got up from the couch and walked to his desk, then opened the upper drawer. The half empty box of Delavian chocolate was still there, but now it wouldn't be enough: he needed something stronger. Without hesitating, he put his fingers into the drawer and slammed it shut. A wave of pleasure flowed through his body and made him sigh. This felt so good, but still he needed more. He looked around his quarters: what else could he use?

Once he had tried hot water, but it turned out to hurt his skin too much and he had to keep the level of injuries low. Besides that, he always needed to make up a credible explanation for all the bruises, black spots, dislocated and once even broken bones, which all had to be treated by a doctor sooner or later. Although it would be nice to see that new handsome Starfleet doctor again, who he'd had a brief conversation with in the Replimat, he was afraid that he might find the implant when scanning him during the examination. He'd been studying that implant for quite a while, but still hadn't found a way to develop a kind of switch for it, which would make his self mutilation unnecessary.

It only self activated when he was physically hurt. For many years, he hadn't thought of that device in his head or felt a need to intentionally trigger it... until the day his exile started. Ironically, a small injury brought back the memories of the pleasure that implant could give him. The first and only time the implant had been used the way it was supposed to be was when he was interrogated. It was still confusing to feel pleasure instead of pain and he still pretended to feel hurt when injured, although he didn't know that sensation anymore. People would find it too strange if they realized that he indeed groaned with pleasure not with pain. During that interrogation, he experienced the whole capability of that device, which was better than anything that he had ever felt before or any time after. It was a sensation like being high or in a state of permanent orgasm, despite the injuries that he had suffered. But to get there again, an extreme amount of "pain" and violence would be necessary. If he could manage to switch on the device constantly, all his problems would be solved. But now, he was going to face another boring and wasted day in his shop.  
After having breakfast, he left his quarters and went to his shop.

During the morning, Garak tried to concentrate on his work, but his thoughts were always with the device that he was building. Why didn't it work, damn it? What was the problem? Hadn't he thought of everything? Nevertheless, he managed to finish the suit that he was working on just before noon. Then he left his shop and went to the Replimat in order to have lunch.

When he was walking along the Promenade, he could feel the eyes of the Bajoran officers in his back, stitching like thousand tiny needles. He tried to ignore them, just as he did every day, but they still hurt and told him that he didn't belong on this station anymore, and wasn't welcome, either.

At the Replimat, he waited in line until he could order his meal, but just when he was putting the cup of hot tea on his tray, somebody's elbow hit him. The tea got spilt all over his left hand and drenched his sleeve. To anybody else this would have been rather painful, but all he felt was the heat and a wave of pleasure flooding through his whole body. On the outside, his face stayed calm when he turned around to look at the offender. He caught the eye of a Bajoran man standing next to him. "I'm very sorry," he said in a cold voice dripping with sarcasm.

Garak returned a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Never mind."

None of the Bajorans who were watching the scene said a word, but he could feel their delight in his misfortune. Surely this hadn't happened by accident.

Garak ordered a new cup of tea and sat down on a table far away from the other people. After he had finished, he left the Replimat and went to the Infirmary. Now he didn't have to make up an excuse for his injury. Physically, he still felt very well and full of joy, but full of anger and hate at the same time. During the occupation, no Bajoran would have dared to do this to him, but now they could even spit at him without fear to be punished for it at all. On the contrary, the other Bajorans would even applaud instead of being outraged. Sure, Constable Odo and his men wouldn't tolerate this or any lynch law on the Promenade, but if he were still a member of the Order, he wouldn't need to be protected by security. In the old days, people would have felt his power surrounding and protecting him like an invisible force field that made them step out of his way and kept them at a respectful distance. But those days were long gone.

He reached the Infirmary and entered. The young handsome Starfleet doctor, Bashir, approached him. Garak smiled; this time, the wave of pleasure wasn't caused by the implant.

"Can I… can I help you… Garak?"

"Yes, Doctor. I happened to have a very unpleasant accident at the Replimat during my lunch time. I spilt hot tea over my hand and now it still hurts." That was a lie, it didn't hurt at all. On the contrary, it kept him stimulated with endorphins.

He showed his hand to Bashir.

"Oh dear, that is severely scalded. It must be very painful; I'll give you a hypospray against the pain and treat the skin with a skin regenerator."

He turned around to take his instruments from a tray.

"No, it doesn't hurt that much anymore, just treat the skin, doctor."

Bashir blinked. "Ok, if you don't mind." He moved the skin-regenerator over his florid skin until it returned to its natural pale grey color. While he was doing it, Garak watched him. He was slim and tall down to his long, slender fingers. His dark eyes, in combination with the permanently tanned skin, had something exotic that he couldn't assign yet. Which place on Earth did he come from? Garak was surprised about the ethnic variety of the human race. The new Starfleet Commander had almost black skin and black eyes, but then he saw humans with black hair and almond shaped eyes and the hair color ranged from almost white over all shades of brown to the deepest black. He'd seen many aliens before, Klingons, Vulcans, Romulans, Ferengi, but other than the Bajorans they all looked much alike compared to the few humans that he'd met so far. And this doctor was especially handsome.  
Julian was a bit nervous when the Cardassian entered the Infirmary. Was he interested in Starfleet's medical secrets? Had he come to spy on him? But he felt relieved when he found out that it was just an injured hand that had brought him to sickbay. Their first meeting in the Replimat still seemed odd to him. He'd almost had a heart attack when the Cardassian had suddenly put his hand on his shoulder, and was sure he must have looked like an complete idiot to the other people there. This was just embarrassing, but now in the Infirmary he felt very self confident, knowing how to do things. He was the boss and people followed his orders. But outside the Infirmary, life seemed a bit of a mine field from time to time and he had a special talent for stepping on the big ones.

"Thank you, Doctor." Garak smiled. "Would you mind if I joined you at the Replimat during lunch from time to time?"

Julian was surprised. "Oh, no, I mean yes, I would enjoy some company."

"Good, Doctor, I'll see you there." He turned and left the Infirmary.

~~~

On the way to his shop, he decided otherwise and went back to his quarters. There wouldn't be many customers anyway. The Bajorans didn't buy at his shop for obvious reasons, and most of the other aliens were just passing by, so he didn't have much to do anyway. When he turned into a darker part of the corridor, he felt like somebody was following him. He turned around, but couldn't see anybody. Then he heard distant footsteps approaching him. Holding his breath and listening, he waited, but nothing happened. "That must have been a false alarm," he thought. When he reached his quarters, he entered, and suddenly felt his heart beating faster. He touched his chest and tried to calm himself, but his chest seemed to be getting tighter with every second, so he could barely breathe. Trying to catch his breath, he leaned backwards against the wall. He felt cold sweat running down his back and on his forehead, and his hands were trembling. The room started to spin, which made him dizzy. He closed his eyes. All he could do now was trying to take one deep breath after another until he started feeling better. But at the moment, he felt like he was going to pass out or to vomit.

As quickly as this attack came, it ended, and left Garak feeling tired and exhausted. He lay down on the couch in order to get some rest. Today was definitely not his day.

Suddenly, he was in the past again.

~~~

I was sitting behind my desk, waiting for another interrogation of a Bajoran suspect. The Cardassian troops had arrested a man who was accused of being a terrorist. Tain wanted me to gain as much information as possible about the terrorist cell that he was supposed to be a member of.

Two soldiers were pulling a man dressed in a ragged and dirty Bajoran suit into my office. I looked down on him from behind my desk. The soldiers had already done the rough work: I could see a black eye and some wounds and bruises on his arms and legs, where the fabric of his suit was torn. Now it was time for me to use the finer instruments of interrogation to fulfill my task. The stick had been used; now it was getting time for the carrot.

"Would you please tell me your name?" I said in an almost warm and friendly voice.

That Bajoran must have been about fifty, which was older than I was. His hands were bound by handcuffs and so were his feet.

The man stood up from the floor, where he had been crouching. "My name is Obal Dalas." His voice gained more confidence. "What are you doing to me? I have a wife and two children that I have to take care of. We didn't do anything wrong. We were living on a farm until those Cardassian troops came and burned it down." The man was close to tears now. "I don't know what happened to my wife or my children or whether they are still alive."

I nodded, but ignored his weeping. Surely he was guilty as charged: everybody who came through this door was guilty. I almost enjoyed the way that he looked up to me, but I couldn't be fooled by sentiments.

"I want you to be sensible and admit your crime. Then nobody will harm you anymore. Sign this confession and the interrogation is over," I said like I was talking to an disobedient child, like Tain always talked to me when I was a boy.  
"But I didn't do anything wrong, they came to my farm and burned the crop."

"I see; you are not sensible at all. Now I have to use other methods to convince you." I never yelled at suspects or used brute force in order to make them confess. There were many ways to threaten or frighten people, which made a rod unnecessary. The challenge was to find their weaknesses and use them well. And I had found his weakness.

"You mentioned your wife and children." This Bajoran was a simple person worried about his family, nothing difficult for somebody of my skills. I would have my confession within a few hours.

The man looked up to me.

"They are with us and they are well, but if you decided to not sign the confession, I am afraid that we have to interrogate them instead of you."

"Please don't, they didn't harm anybody and my daughters are still so young."

I put on a suggestive smile. "The troops like them young."

"You are such a bastard! You spoonhead!"

That was enough. Nobody had the right to call me, Elim Garak, such things. Now I had to show him who he was talking to. I pushed a button on my desk. Moments later, two soldiers entered the room.

"Please bring me the black box," I said in a calm and controlled voice. After some minutes, the soldiers brought in a small black box. "Put him in," I ordered. The two men grabbed the kicking and swearing Bajoran by his arms and legs and pushed him inside, than closed the lid and fixed it. The box was so small that an adult of average height had to sit with his arms around his folded legs and his head resting on his knees to fit into it. That position became rather uncomfortable after a while, which might increase his motivation to confess. I was really proud of having invented this method. The soldiers saluted and left the room. All I had to do now was sit and wait. Sooner or later, the man would start to panic and beg to be let out. Until then, I would have lunch and read my newspaper.

After some minutes, the Bajoran banged from the inside on the box, trying to open its lid. "Let me out, please. I'll suffocate in here!"

I pretended to have left the room, still eating and watching the box.

"Hello? Can you hear me?" The voice sounded much higher now. "I want out! Let me out of here!" He was such a disgrace to the Bajoran people. Screaming like a small child. I never did that, even when I was much younger.

The screaming went on in an unnatural pitch that made my head ache. Suddenly, I got an idea: why not kick and roll that box a little? I stood up from my chair and kicked the side of the box. The Bajoran started to scream even more. Then I shook it and rolled it upside down. A scared squeaking came from the inside.

The humans had a toy called a "Jack -in-the box" and now I had a "Bajoran- in- the box". Wasn't it lovely? I started to giggle and laughed out loud.

After an hour, I decided to let him out. I called the soldiers again and had them open the box. The suspect had a wet spot on his pants when he came out. I grinned at him to heighten his embarrassment. Then I nodded at the soldiers. "Bring me a cup of Katana."

Katana was a Cardassian laxative and emetic that was used to clean the body from intoxication. Some minutes later, the soldiers brought the medicine to me. I had a look at the suspect.

"Are you still not sensible enough to sign the confession?"

"I'm not a criminal, I have nothing to confess!"

"In this cup is a medicine that will cause severe vomiting and diarrhea. If you sign the confession and tell me all about the resistance group that you belong to, I'll have the soldiers pour it away, but if you still don't talk to me, I'll make you drink it. It is your decision." In fact, I never had to use it before; the mere threat was enough to many suspects.

"Drop dead, you bastard!" he spat.

"I am a patient man, but my patience is limited."

I nodded at the soldiers. One grabbed him and held him up, and the other man forced the cup on his lips and made him drink. The Bajoran bit, squeezed his mouth shut and spat the liquid out, but he still drank enough to have an effect after some minutes.  
I leaned back in my chair and waited, which was a mistake. It was an even bigger mistake to have had lunch beforehand. The Bajoran turned pale and threw up all over the floor. That sight made my stomach turn. The smell was awful, too. I felt sick and struggled to keep my food with me, but I couldn't show any sign of weakness in front of the suspect. I had to keep everything under control, including my body. It would be rather unprofessional to vomit all over my desk, but all I could feel at that moment was disgust. The whole office made me sick. Suddenly, I hated this. I hated these things that I had to do. I felt stained.

"What's wrong with you… you…" He couldn't finish his sentence, because he threw up again.

That was more than I could stand. I almost jumped out of my chair and left the office. In the corridor, I was leaning trembling on the wall for a moment. I felt like I was trapped in that black box myself. No way out. In my mind's eye, I saw the Bajoran and remembered the interrogation. Then I bent over the nearest garbage can, closed my eyes, and threw up until my stomach was empty.

I didn't remember for how long I had been kneeling on the floor next to it, but all I remembered was the fear of Tain finding out that I failed to conduct a simple interrogation.

~~~

Garak lay on his couch, staring into space. He hadn't thought of that event for decades. And Tain found out many years later, but instead of punishing him, he'd laughed about his mistake of not leaving the room in time. After all the years that had passed, he realized for the first time that it wasn't the sight of the vomiting Bajoran that made him do likewise, but disgust about his own actions.

"Surely I am guilty as charged: everybody who came through that door was guilty," Garak said into the emptiness of his quarters.

the end


End file.
